Page 103 of Let’s Make a Scene

Today is the last day I have to see Jack. Those words run over and over in my head.

It’s been six months since A Lady of Quality came out, and apart from a few publicity events, we haven’t had much to do with each other, but today it’s the MTV Movie Awards in Los Angeles and the film has been nominated. Unfortunately, the category in which it has been nominated is Best Kiss, and the winners always reenact said kiss onstage. I never thought I’d find myself hoping with every fiber of my being to lose an acting award, but here we are.

A Lady of Quality outperformed everyone’s (admittedly fairly low) expectations by making a modest profit at the box office and finding a devoted audience, predominantly of young women. There are posters of Jack Turner-Jones in a wet shirt gracing bedroom walls all over the world, and—as Lorna predicted—the rumors of our perfect love affair have captured people’s imagination, giving both the film, and the two of us, a nice publicity boost. To her credit, Lorna hasn’t been smug about it, though her smile has only grown wider, and I fear she’s sprouted several new teeth.

Next week I start work on a new movie, a fantasy with a big budget based here in LA. Jack is flying straight back to the UK to start production on a gritty British drama with a big director, and he’s already in postproduction on another project. Unlike me, he didn’t wait around.

It’s been agreed by everyone involved that we can let our fake relationship die away, blaming the distance if anyone asks about it. So tonight is our last hoorah, the death rattle of Jack Turner-Jones and Cynthie Taylor as a couple. Finally.

“Where do we want to put this lamp?” Hannah asks, trailing through from her room in the two-bedroom apartment we’ve rented in Los Feliz. I say we, but Hannah organized everything with Gayle’s assistant, and now—unbelievably—we have a six-month lease on our new home and all the visas and paperwork that mean we can stay.

We flew out three days ago, and the combination of excitement, jet lag, and having to see Jack has me feeling extremely edgy.

I eye the lamp that Hannah is holding. “Why do we have a lamp that looks like a penis?”

Hannah blinks. Looks at the lamp. “It doesn’t look like a…” She trails off, then tilts her head. “Huh,” she murmurs finally. “I guess it is quite phallic… because of the decorative orbs.”

“Decorative orbs?” I choke.

Hannah grins. “We accidentally bought a penis lamp!”

“You accidentally bought a penis lamp,” I say. “And obviously it should go here in the living room for everyone to admire.”

“Obviously,” Hannah echoes, placing the lamp on a side table and flopping down beside me on the sofa. “How’s the prep going?”

I glance at the script in my lap. “Okay, I think. There are a lot of special effects… It’s going to be totally different from filming A Lady of Quality.”

“And that’s… bad?” Hannah asks.

I bite my lip. “No. I’m excited to learn more, to try new things… I suppose I just felt safe on that set in the end. Apart from the presence of you-know-who.”

“Satan’s minion.” Hannah nods wisely.

“Precisely. Apart from him, I think I was lucky that it was such a good experience. I hadn’t really thought about this part of it, you know… that you spend months living so tightly with a small group of people, before you all go your separate ways.” I sigh. “At least you’ll always be there.”

“Always,” Hannah agrees. “I’ve got your back, and all your lighting needs covered, too.”

“You are no longer in charge of interior design decisions.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Hannah asks then, glancing at her watch.

“Gayle said they’re sending over hair and makeup people, right?” I stretch, trying to cover the flutter of nerves that I feel.

“Yes, they should be here in the next few minutes.” Hannah gets back to her feet. “And the car is picking you up in three hours.”

“Three hours to make me look like a human woman.” I shudder. “Do you think they’ll manage it?”

“They can only do their best.”

WHEN THE CAR ARRIVES I’M relieved to find it empty. I half expected to be traveling with Jack.

“He’s coming straight from the airport,” Hannah informs me. “So he’ll meet you there, and then you’ll do the carpet together.”

She’s going to watch the awards from our sofa while eating a giant pizza. When she waves me off from the doorway, she already has a spoon stuck into a tub of chocolate ice cream, and I let out an envious sigh.

I take the opportunity that the drive to the awards ceremony offers to press myself up against the windows and admire the view. I can’t believe I live here. It seems absolutely impossible that Hannah and I could just pack our lives into a couple of suitcases, bid a tearful goodbye to her parents at Heathrow, and then move to Los Angeles. I don’t know who we think we are.

We drive down roads lined with palm trees, and I keep waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and laugh pityingly at my delusions—everything I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember is laid out in front of me. It feels like I’m on the edge of something huge.